Put the Hurt On
by whump-and-angst
Summary: Scott got stuck playing in an away game on a full moon. His "friends" need to help him stay in control on the bus ride back to Beacon Hills. Written for Lady Silver's LJ prompt.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Written for Lady Silver's Fall Fandom Fest request over at LJ _

_"Scott & human!Jackson H/C, possibly involving the canon use of pain to control transformations. Scott should be the one getting hurt here."_

_Rated T for naughty words and, well, violence of a bullying nature.  
><em>

* * *

><p>"You ready?"<p>

Stiles asked the question as he glanced around the back of the school bus, lumbering out of the parking lot. Equipment, duffel bags, and uniforms littered the rows around him, tossed back quickly and without care just moments ago as the Beacon Hills High Lacrosse team lost an away game in Mystic Falls. He could see his teammates in the front half of the bus, some of them sitting three to a seat, avoiding any contact with one of their co-captains. Occasionally, one player would dare to turn his head and look back cautiously at Stiles's seat mate, not wanting to be the next target for his temper today.

Scott was ready. He nodded silently, furiously, to answer Stiles' question. Though his eyes were clamped shut, Stiles knew he was on Amber Alert, as he had come to refer to Scott's aggression issues. "Just do it before it gets any worse!" he hissed in a low voice, his legs parting slightly.

Next to his best friend, Stiles took a deep breath in, feeling his grip on his lacrosse stick get tighter. "Just try not to kill me, ok?" he asked preemptively. The butt of his lacrosse stick came down smack dab in the middle of Scott's junk. Except it didn't hit Scott's junk, due to the ill fitting jock strap he'd forgotten to remove. Instead, the strap cruelly pinched his balls in all the wrong places.

Scott's eyes began to bug out of his skull while he gasped, sucking in a breath. Both hands went to his crotch. "Fuck!" he howled.

Heads turned, looking at the offending player. Coach Finstock stood up, his face red with frustration. "McCall!" he yelled. "Is there something else you want to complain about today?" Scott was not forthcoming with an answer. His patience long gone, Coach yelled, punctuating each word with venom, "Then sit down and shut up!" He turned his back on the rest of the bus as he sat back down next to his assistant.

Stiles cursed inwardly at the loss of his preferred method to keep Scott's transformation in check tonight. "Why the hell are you still wearing a cup?" He looked up to see if anyone was still paying attention to them. Of course, their teammates were, Scott's co-captain in particular.

Scott cautiously opened his eyes, showing a familiar brown color again. Scott squeaked out "I forgot..." still cradling his offended area.

"How did you forget to take it off? You only missed half the game! What the hell else did you have to do besides sulk on the bus?" Stiles was convinced Scott would be dead by now a thousand times over if it weren't for him.

"Well, I wasn't exactly focused on that, ok?" Scott fired back. He sat back, resting his head on the seat. "It worked, I think. For now anyway." Worry had begun to creep back in his voice as he glanced at the sky, watching as dusk had fallen. He was still restless, knowing that this wasn't anywhere near being over. The anxious feeling he had grew like a tumor in his belly and it only made him feel worse. The pain from the injury Stiles inflicted on him was already fading, but he still felt...off. It wouldn't be enough to survive the entire ride home, he could tell. They were still an agonizing fifty minutes away from Beacon Hills. His skin felt itchy and tingly, a wicked headache brewing between his eyes, no doubt preparing for an inevitable transformation soon.

Scott had been trying to get out of this away game all week. He concocted a story of being too sick to play, with several days' worth of evidence to lay out in front of the coach. Unfortunately, Scott wasn't very good at acting and his supernatural instincts had gotten the better of him on the field during practice. Stiles had tried to reassure him that it would be ok. They'd done away games before and were usually back before dark. Why would this one be any different?

But of course, this time _was _different. This was the first away game the team had a moody werewolf playing on the afternoon of a full moon. The game had started with a couple slashing calls against him. Even Stiles had to admit the first one was unfair, but one bad call was all it took. After that, each time the whistle would blow, it was always for Scott. He would angrily throw his stick to the ground and walk off the field. Stiles began to imagine it became like a Pavlovian reaction for Scott: whistle, rage, sit out, return to play, only to earn a whistle moments later again. Scott began getting into fights with the opposing team's players, his stick ending up in their faces more than on the ball. Mystic Falls learned quick and began goading him into personal fouls. Stiles was even shocked when he saw his friend issue a rude gesture at one of the home team's fans in the bleachers. Then, it turned into arguing against the calls, getting if the face of Coach Finstock or worse, the referees. That had been the final straw in the beginning of the third quarter. The refs threw Scott out of the game and threatened to write a formal complaint to bar him from competing for the rest of the season. Without Coach's fast talking, Beacon Hill's chances of reaching the championships this year would have been non-existent without their best player. With the decision final, both teams watched as Scott stomped towards the bus, the two halves of his lacrosse stick being furiously thrown in opposite directions. With no chance of getting on the field, like usual, Stiles felt the only thing left for him to do was to go after him.

The many delays of game that occurred from Scott's penalties had forced the game to drag on longer than it should have. Now, Stiles watched over him as he sat next to Scott, who currently had his head resting on the back of the seat in front of him, his hands covering his ears. Scott was doing his best to keep calm, breathing as deeply as he could, in and out, while Stiles was praying it would at least stay overcast until they got to the school parking lot.

Stiles decided to try another tactic to control his friend's urges tonight. "Have you tried Allison?"

Scott nodded miserably, his head staying up against the seat back. "Yes, already texted her. She's stuck with her parents all night. And she's not supposed to talk to me anymore, remember?"

Stiles cringed. That was a bad subject to bring up just now. He should have known better. Before he could try another approach, Stiles's head snapped up as someone slid into the seat in front of them.

_And __the __punches __just __keep__ coming, _thought Stiles as Jackson leaned over the two of them, a familiar smirk spreading across his face.

"Is the puppy having a bad day?" he inquired, mock concern seeping from his voice. He grinned at the sight of Scott so uncomfortable. "Or maybe an even worse night?"

At the mention of the hated nickname Jackson had come to refer to him lately, Scott bristled. Even though his gaze was downward, Stiles could see his eyes begin to light up once more, his hands balling into fists.

"Look, can we please not do this right now? I'd like to successfully survive tonight's full moon if you don't mind. I'd think you would too," Stiles said pointedly to Jackson.

Jackson scoffed. "Really? What's he gonna do on a bus full of people?" As he glanced out the window at the speeding highway, he continued. "Besides, moon's not even out yet. And it's pretty cloudy."

"Yeah, key word being _yet_. With Scott's luck, there will be a hole in a cloud right above this bus," Stiles predicted. That was how the universe worked, at least, according to Stiles.

Scott groaned next to him at his prospects; or maybe he growled. Stiles wasn't really sure what type of sound that was, but it wasn't a happy one. He looked nervously at his friend and then to their co-captain. Stiles couldn't help notice Jackson's split second reaction. The normal, self assured expression faltered for just a moment. He watched as Jackson recovered his usual arrogance, but it was kind of hard, knowing that your co-captain could rip your throat out before you could roll your eyes at him.

Running out of options, Stiles decided to take matters into his own hands. "All right, I'm going for your balls again," Stiles declared, steadying the lacrosse stick in his hands, aimed at Scott's crotch.

"No!" Scott squeezed his legs together. "Dude, there's gotta be something else!" he gasped.

"What are you two asswipes talking about now?"

Stiles sighed and hung his head for a second before snapping up to look at Jackson, who still had the audacity to appear confused. "Ok, let me explain this in small words and exaggerated hand gestures. Werewolf. Full moon. Bus full of people. Rawr. Claw. Blood. Everybody dead. Seriously, where have you been for, like, the last two months?"

"Yeah, I get that part," Jackson responded. "But what's with the sudden obsession with Scott's junk?"

"Its pain," Stiles answered, before continuing with his voice lowered. "Pain can stop the transformation. But only for a little while. It, like, shocks his system from completing it or something."

Jackson gave Scott a sideways glance before replying, "What if he's bluffing? Maybe he likes getting away with being a dick to everyone."

Stiles shook his head. "Ok, now you're just being an asshole. You _know _how bad this could get. Hurting him is our only chance to get him back to Beacon Hills without anyone getting killed. Or finding out about him," Stiles added, as an afterthought.

Well, Jackson had meant to be an asshole. He certainly didn't care what Scott and Stiles thought of him. Even so, Jackson gave the slightest nod, reluctantly accepting this inane plan no matter how pathetic it sounded. They both looked to Scott. He was trying to stay in control, eyes closed, his breathing deep again, but his teeth were beginning to grind and his fists clenched. He had opened the window, hoping the fresh, cool air would help. It didn't seem like it was to his two teammates.

"So that," Jackson huffed, gesturing to the lacrosse stick still in Stiles' hands, "is how you chose to do it? Seriously?"

"You have a better idea? A school bus isn't exactly equipped with weapons to hurt werewolves," Stiles shot back in a low hiss. "This isn't the Argent's Mystery Machine."

Jackson kept his face neutral and replied knowingly, "Well, Stilinski, maybe I _do_ have a better idea."


	2. Chapter 2

Jackson didn't say anything though his brows knit together as he focused on something outside of the window next to Scott. "Hey, Scott, what is that?"

Scott snapped his head up in blatant annoyance, his eyes flicking open, flashing gold. There was something very predatory about his gaze as he focused in on Jackson, or rather, his throat. "What?" he said curtly.

Jackson didn't falter under that gaze though. He wouldn't allow Scott to try that with him again. "That, right there, on the top edge of the window? Is that some kind of spider?"

"Oh god, oh god, get it away from me! Is it on my head? It's gonna go on my head, isn't it? They can jump, you know!" Jackson watched as Stiles jumped across the aisle, putting as much distance between himself and said spider. Best friend a werewolf? No problem. Spider within a one mile radius? Complete and utter bitch. Ignoring his arachnophobia, Jackson turned back to Scott.

"Don't you see it? Flick it outside before it lands on Stilinski and lays eggs in his face." Across from them, Stiles gagged at the prospect of being a walking and talking spider egg sac. Jackson was probably pushing his luck, but Scott wasn't exactly a rocket scientist on a good day, let alone a day with a full moon coming over him.

"There's nothing there," Scott grumbled, clearly annoyed, a dark look crossing his face. "See?" He stuck his hand out the window to prove his point. It was then that Jackson reached over and quickly pinched the tabs on the window. Hard and fast, the bus window shot up and trapped Scott's left hand with a thud and crunch.

Jackson winced at the sound, but a smile still came over his face. "Payback's a bitch, isn't it McCall?" he whispered as he leaned in close over the seat back between them to his co-captain's pained face. "Call out the next time you have to play a game on a full moon. Dick." He stood back from Scott, putting more space between them before turning to Stiles and giving him a knowing look.

Stiles nodded. He had to admit, the window was a good idea, a dull, miniature guillotine for werewolf fingers. "Touche, Whittemore, touche." Stiles paused, before adding, "So, there's no spider, right?"

"Stiles! Would you shut up and help me?" Scott exclaimed, before letting loose a slew of profanity directed at Jackson, while trying to free his hand.

He may have pissed off a werewolf big time but, Jackson noted, it did the trick, just like Stiles had said it would. Scott was back to looking and acting like Scott, bewildered and innocent, emotions he put on display far too much in Jackson's opinion. Jackson looked back to the front of the bus, giving his teammates an assuring smile. Oops, he mouthed, mocking Scott's gullibility. Laughter began to rise up from the front of the bus, until Coach Finstock got up and began to walk towards the back of the bus. Permitting one last backwards glance to Stiles and Scott, Jackson stepped out of his seat to intercept Coach. He wasn't really ready to end his fun yet.

Coach was so visibly angry he shook when he spoke. "And what are you jackasses doing now?" Coach yelled out, staring at the three boys. Jackson, who was standing in the middle of the aisle, smirk plastered firmly in place, was blocking the Coach from going any further on the bus, while Stiles was grappling at the old bus window as he freed his friend's hand. Scott began nursing his wounded hand and slumped down into the seat, out of sight. Jackson was the only one to answer the coach.

"Nothing really. Just..." he stopped, thinking about the right words to use, "helping Scott deal with this really shitty day." Jackson oozed charm out of every available orifice.

Coach knew what that meant. Being a teacher he couldn't condone student on student violence, but... "If you do anything that jeopardizes this team..." Coach couldn't continue that line of thought. "I already have one of my co-captains screwing up our chances, I don't need you to add to it. You got that?" he said in a low, condescending voice. He turned away from them.

He got it all right. That was Coach speech for 'Don't leave any marks'. A slow smile spread over Jackson's face. No, Scott wouldn't have any marks on him at all, Jackson knew that for sure. He nodded at the coach, seeing him walk back to the front of the bus. One by one, curious players' head's turned away, except for one.

Danny stared back at Jackson with a look to question his motives for this bus ride. He seemed less than impressed with Jackson's handling of Scott. Danny did not leave his seat, but gave Jackson a look that was meant to try and reel him back in. Jackson just gave him a cocked eyebrow, as if to say 'let me handle it' before turning around.

Stiles was actually sitting opposite Scott now, across the aisle from him. As he got closer, Jackson could see he was texting like mad. He was about to ask who when he felt a grip on the collar of his uniform and he swiftly went down into the seat, no time for a sound to escape his lips.

His body should have hit something, made a noise, but the force that grabbed him was too precise for that to happen. One hand still held him by his shirt as he felt the plastic, padded bus seat meet his back. He could now feel the metal of the bus against the back of his head. His vision filled up by Scott in front of his face, leaning down over him, out of sight from others. He was angry. Jackson could see his eyes begin to narrow, his mouth drawn into a small, thin line. Jackson held steady, not willing to let Scott think he had gotten the best of him yet.

"You think this is funny, don't you?" Scott accused, voice low, sure that no one could hear the conversation. "Perfect excuse to beat me up without any consequences, right?" Scott had obviously heard what Coach had said.

"Yeah, I do think its funny," Jackson answered confidently. Scott's alpha male posturing pissed him off like nothing else on this planet. The grip on his shirt tightened. Undeterred, he continued. "It's even funnier that its up to me and Stiles to help you out."

Scott appeared like he was right on the verge of shifting. Jackson had only seen it once, up close. He braced for it, the instantaneous change, the fangs, the claws, to come at him with a fury. Instead, Scott grew quiet, staring at Jackson instead, mocking his brazen attitude. "What makes you think I'm gonna let you?" A slow smile started to appear across Scott's face as he cocked his head ever so slightly, as if he was listening to something. "Now," Scott said knowingly after a few seconds, "_you__'__re _the one who's bluffing."

Jackson could feel his face getting red, not with embarrassment but rage. _Damn __this__ fucking __werewolf __shit! _He wanted to throw Scott off of him and get as far away from him as he could for the rest of this bus trip. But he could tell Scott wasn't about to let him up; his grip was solid as a rock. He found himself wondering if Scott liked to play with his food. Scott's gaze became unfocused, his concentration elsewhere momentarily. He stiffened, as if to ready himself for a blow when Jackson saw both of Stiles's arms come down upon Scott's shoulder. Hard.

Scott winced and hissed in pain. Jackson felt the grip on his shirt disappear as Scott brought his hands to the injury. The keys to Stiles's Jeep were firmly implanted into Scott's right shoulder, the new rip in his uniform surrounded by seeping blood. In pulling his makeshift weapon out of his friend, Stiles dragged Scott down on top of him in the other seat. Stiles checked him over for any signs of wolfing out while he tried wiping his bloodstained key on his shorts. "Eyes...check, teeth...check, insane anger...not yet but still a good sign." Stiles grimaced at the bloodied state of his recently replaced keys. "Eww, that was a bad choice of weaponry."

"No, it worked at least," Scott insisted, pulling himself off his friend and upright in the seat. He felt only marginally better, at least more like himself, less like a wolf. The pain snapped him back to the reality of the agonizingly long bus ride. He did not expect being stabbed with a car key even though he knew Stiles had been behind him, ready to stop him before he went too far, which he almost did. Scott remembered thinking about testing out how sharp his claws could be as they raked down Jackson's cheek, his fear permeating the air around them. Grateful and with his head down, Scott sucked in breath after breath and continued to rub the healing wound on the back of his shoulder. He tried to concentrate on himself instead of the people talking, the engine beneath him roaring, it was all too much at once. _Don__'__t __let __me__ change, __don__'__t __let __me__ change, __don__'__t __let __me __change!_ Scott repeated the mantra over and over in his head, anything to keep from thinking about silencing the cacophony around him. It also prevented him from noticing the newest intruder to the sick game they were stuck playing.


	3. Chapter 3

Danny stood there, swaying with the movement of the darkened bus, absorbing the scene in front of him. Lights from the highway flickered across his face, briefly illuminating the expression of aggravation he was feeling. "Mind explaining what you're doing back here?" He brought an accusatory gaze on his best friend.

Jackson popped up from his own seat to come face to face with his best friend. He shrugged. "Nothing, really." A grin broke out across his face though. He turned to look across the aisle. "Right, Scott? Everything's awesome back here."

Hearing his name, Scott looked up, confused to see Danny with them all of a sudden. He managed to stutter, "Y-yeah. I'm, I'm fine."

"You're fine?" Danny repeated, skeptically. "You're bleeding and you just got your hand broken in the window and you say you're fine?"

Scott shook his head, grimacing in pain for a second, clutching not his shoulder, but his head. "No, I'm- I'm just wearing an old jersey. I'm not bleeding."

_Wow, __that __was __quick __thinking..._ A quick witted comeback, under this kind of duress even, wasn't part of Scott's usual repertoire; that was what he hung out with Stiles for. "Yeah," Stiles chimed in. "See? No injury." He pointed to the perfectly smooth skin beneath the rip in Scott's jersey. "So, nothing to see here. We can all move on with our lives."

Danny leaned over ever so slightly, looking at the hole in Scott's shirt. "People only say that when there _is _something to see. And if there's nothing to see, why is there still blood on his skin?"

Jackson got up from his seat. "Danny, you're too smart for your own good. It's leftover from the game, when #18 hit him, remember?" He moved to the aisle, in front of Danny. Putting a hand on his shoulder, Jackson exacted just enough pressure to get Danny to take a few steps back, getting him almost two rows further up. He came close to succeeding until Danny turned his head back to Scott.

"Scott, are you sure you're ok?" Danny asked one last time. He sounded tired, as if he'd been dealing with the fallout of some of Jackson's less than desirable schemes for some time.

Scott could only nod, while Jackson made attempt number two to divert Danny's attention towards the front. "Seriously, why are you bothering with McCall?" he started off on a tirade that he hoped would end Danny's altruistic mission.

Stiles tried to hide the concern that rose in him, quickly thinking of what was left that he could do to help. Stomp on his toes? Nipple twist? Whack him in the kneecaps? They were running out of options and Stiles wasn't entirely sure Scott was going to let them continue to beat up on him like this. Looking out the window, Stiles tried to gauge how long they had until they reached their destination. The bus was definitely past the half way point.

"Stiles, am I changing?" Scott whispered, sparing a sideways glance at him, trying to evade being noticed again by Danny.

He checked his friend over again. Scott was sweaty. Not I-just-played-in-a-lacrosse-game sweaty, but I'm-about-to-turn-into-a-werewolf-and-eat-everyone sweaty. His eyes were starting to look a little weird. They were this strange tawny color, flecks of burning gold radiating from the pupil. It was the usual precursor one could see if one looked close enough. Stiles had had many opportunities to look that close. "Kind of?" he offered up. "Why? How do you feel?"

"It hurts," was all Scott answered and he bowed his head. His breathing sounded labored. It reminded Stiles of the first full moon they had went through, as he pleaded with Scott to let him in his room to help.

Stiles scrambled up and reached into the seat behind him, grabbing his hoodie. "Here, put this on. At least it might cover your head if the moon decides to show through." It was now dark out and the moon, though hidden behind morphing puffs of clouds, was completely out. He watched as Scott, keeping his head down, slipped into it, drawing the hood up over his head. Stiles couldn't help notice Scott's nails looked just a tad bit longer than usual. Stiles gulped.

"I heard that," Scott growled. Again, his head met the green plastic backing of the seat in front of him.

"Hey, you need to keep the growling to a minimum or _someone_ else is gonna hear it, too." Stiles jerked his head in Danny's direction, where Jackson was still trying to keep him occupied while gradually guiding him back to the front of the bus.

Frustrated, Scott griped, "I don't care, I just want to get off this damn bus!"

"Look, I texted Derek. He's going to meet you at the school parking lot to make sure you don't do anything stupid. Although its probably a little late for that," Stiles said sarcastically. "When the bus pulls in, just open the back door and get the hell away from everyone. Besides, it'll be the perfect way to cap off your shitty attitude today."

Ignoring the dig, Scott asked gruffly, "How long?"

"Not sure, the exit should be coming up soon..." Real soon, he hoped. Scott wasn't progressing well. Stiles made sure he knew where the closest helmet was, just in case.

Elsewhere, another set of best friends were discussing Scott's situation as well. "Look, I just don't see the reason to bully him about it. He fucked up, it's shitty but it happened. Can't you just let Coach take care of it?" Danny was saying, trying to reason with Jackson.

That trademarked Jackson smirk reappeared, as he brought a hand to his chest. "I would be remiss in my co-captainly duties if I didn't help out McCall tonight and I'm sure he'd agree. Can you just leave it at that?"

"Maybe I would if you'd tell me why you're trying to keep me and the rest of the team from the back of the bus. Normally, you'd invite everyone back here to take part in something like this. I think last time it was for Greenberg after he scored a goal for the other team."

The smirk stayed on Jackson's face, although, Danny could tell he had touched on something.  
>He wasn't stupid, and neither was Jackson. He knew these past few weeks, Jackson was hiding something from him. He pushed past Jackson back to the other co-captain.<p>

Ignoring his seatmate, Danny tried to coerce Scott once again. "Come up front. You don't have to put up with this bullshit for the rest of the ride."

Scott failed to acknowledge him. Stiles simply looked up at Danny, offering up a shrug, while motioning for him to go back to his seat. _What__ the __hell...?_ Fed up, Danny reached down to shake Scott by the shoulder. If it wasn't so loud on the bus, he would have heard the warning growl that had escaped Scott's throat. He would have been prepared when Scott's hand clasped his wrist, causing him to wonder why Scott didn't trim his fingernails.

"Go. Away."

If it hadn't been for Stiles and Jackson's recognition of Scott's response as well, Danny wouldn't have noticed.

"What?"

The hand around his wrist let go, only to suddenly grip further up Danny's arm and pull him down close. Before he could let out a breath, Danny was face to face with Scott.

He was about to ask what was up with the funky colored contacts when Jackson's fist rocked Scott's head with a swift punch to the side. Scott's face landed in Stiles's lap. Pissed, Danny looked at Jackson, ready to call him out on the low blow when Jackson covered his mouth and put a finger to his own lips. Quiet, he signaled and glanced to the front of the bus. What they saw was fortunate, as most of the team was too preoccupied to care about what was taking place in the back rows of the bus. Some slept, some played games on their phones, while others were talking and joking with each other.

He may be their co-captain, but most kids in Beacon Hills still did not give a shit about what happened to Scott McCall.

"Ok," Danny, leaning in close, whispered to his best friend, "you gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?"

Jackson opened his mouth with an excuse but before a word came out, Scott spit out a desperate answer himself: "I'm a werewolf."

Turning to Scott, Danny looked ready to punch the kid himself. "What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Scott had lifted his head from the slouched position next to Stiles, hand to his face trying to rub away the pain. He was definitely in more discomfort than what that punch had done. His eyes opened, and Danny couldn't help but notice they were brown again. Sort of. Maybe not so brown? "They're helping me." He spoke in a low voice, breathing heavy. "I'm a werewolf and its a full moon and if they hurt me, I don't change." It came out of him like a rushing river, heavy pauses like rocks interrupting the flow of words.

Danny took that in. There was no way that could be true, except...


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles was looking at Scott, mouth agape. "Did you just seriously werewolf-out yourself to _Danny _of all people?" he uttered, unbelieving at Scott's revelation . Scott didn't respond. He was clutching his head still, as if having the mother of all migraines. "Why don't we just tell the whole bus while we're at it?"

Jackson grinned. "Well, if you say so..." He made a move to get up, when Scott reached across the aisle and grabbed the front of his shirt for a second time that night. Danny was blocking the aisle still, so no one but the three of them saw the claws come flying out.

"You do and you're dead," Scott snarled, accidentally showing off a bit of fang, his eyes lighting up in warning.

"Well, I guess those aren't really contacts then," Danny deadpanned, an eyebrow raised, taking in the transformation.

Stiles made an attempt to pry Scott's hand from Jackson's uniform. "Can we please keep the you-know-what talking to a minimum? We're getting closer. And I think you should put the helmet on. That punch didn't buy you much time." Scott relented and pulled back the hood, revealing to Danny the very real wolf-like features coming over him. He jammed the lacrosse helmet down, noting that it wasn't his; it smelled funny and fit awkwardly.

Danny tried to connect the dots of all the odd events over the semester in his head. "You know, weird as it is, this all makes a lot of sense." Danny couldn't help but stare; Scott refused to look at him now. _He __must __be__ embarrassed..._ Getting Jackson's attention, he queried, "So, you've been back here, hurting him, to keep _this_ from happening?" Danny gestured to the supernatural state Scott currently found himself in.

"Yeah." Jackson turned his attention to Stiles. "Do you think he'll make it in time, or should we do something else?"

"I don't know!" Stiles whispered, worry now very much evident in his voice. He chewed on his lip, quietly cataloging what could be used as a weapon on the bus without anyone noticing. And without Scott stopping them. Jackson started throwing out suggestions.

"Break his nose?"

"No."

"How bout breaking his arm?"

Baring his teeth and looking more vicious by the minute, Scott retorted, "How bout I break your face?"

"Scott, you're not helping."

Jackson continued, perking up the more sadistic he got. "Would his eyeball grow back if I stuck my thumb in the socket?"

"I don't know but we are NOT trying that."

"What if we shoved a lacrosse stick up his ass?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "We're not filming some gay lacrosse porno, NO!" He caught himself and looked at Danny. "Do they actually make gay lacrosse porno?" He paused, thinking over what he just said. "Sorry, no offense."

Danny shook his head, "None taken, but-"

He was cut off by Jackson. "Can we stab him in the hand or something?"

"Jackson, with what? I've already used my keys on his shoulder and they're too dull to break the skin without a lot of force behind them."

"I have a pocket knife on my keys."

The two stared at Danny after he proffered up the information, but it was Scott who replied.

"Where?" he asked, trying to keep himself from grabbing him.

Danny cocked his head towards his bag, in a seat a few rows up. After making sure Scott was slouched down low enough in his seat to stay hidden, Danny got up. He held on to the backs of the seats as the bus began down the curve of the exit for Beacon Hills.

"So, have you picked a body part we can stab you in until we get back? Probably something with a lot of meat but not near a major artery. How bout your butt? Or maybe your quad, that's easier to get too. Or maybe-"

Scott cut him off, indignant. "_You__'__re _not doing anything. I can do it myself. I'm not a voodoo doll." Looking at various body parts, he figured his hand would be a safe bet. Or maybe Stiles was right and he should go for his quad. Scott continued to mull his options over while waiting for the promised knife.

"Oh thank God, we're finally here," Stiles sighed, giving Scott a tired glance to make sure he understood it was only a matter of minutes now til he was safe. Scott sat up a little straighter to look out the bus window, as if he needed proof. Jackson looked over at the two of them, disinterested as he realized his fun for the evening was about to be over.

The bus swayed, taking the extreme curve off the highway. The relief he felt suddenly began to knot up in his stomach, as Stiles realized the cloud cover that they had come to depend upon on the ride home had dissipated the closer they had gotten to Beacon Hills. Patches of moonlight ricocheted through the bus windows, flying across the interior. Stiles had half a second to search with his eyes for something, anything, to throw over Scott. He had to watch as the light made its way around the bus to sweep across Scott's face.

His eyes gleamed bright as the moon washed over his face. The moonlight on him, no matter for how long, started his shift and Scott doubled over in the seat. He grimaced as his head felt tight inside the lacrosse helmet, his ears painfully cramped. He bit his tongue, feeling his fangs grow and slide into the flesh so easily. A part of Scott couldn't believe he was actually _savoring _the taste of blood in his mouth, even though it was just his own; it could be so much more satisfying if it wasn't his. He grunted, trying to stay quiet, trying not to think of the metallic flavor in his mouth, to stay in control of himself. If he could just hold on a little bit more, it will all be over soon.

Danny had returned just in time to see Scott double over. Confused, he looked at Stiles and Jackson. "The moon..." Stiles hissed before he could speak, jerking his thumb to the window now as his back. He was trying to inconspicuously shield Scott from any further exposure to the moon light, contorting his lean body to somehow fit the boxy shape of the window. Jackson watched the futile attempt with a weird mix of amusement and doubt. The stark contrast of reactions between the two confused Danny; just how bad was this situation about to get? He sat down on the edge of the seat directly in front of Scott. Danny flipped the blade open and wordlessly held out the mini Swiss army knife that had previously hung on his key chain. Stiles prodded Scott so he would take the offered weapon, but he stayed bent over, helmet pressing into the back of the seat in front of him.

"Scott?" Danny asked tentatively. "Take it." He extended the knife towards the teen.

The helmet rose up in slow increments, gradually revealing all that Scott tried to keep in check. His mouth hung open slightly, revealing to Danny, up close at least, the sharpness that lay inside. Danny saw Scott's eyes, no longer brown at all, focusing in on the small knife he held out to him. He didn't know what else lay under that helmet and was hoping that Scott would pull himself together enough so that he didn't have to. At least not tonight.

A clawed hand came out and grasped the small knife gingerly. Scott stared at it, as if he'd never seen one before, rubbing his thumb up and down the precise blade. Jackson, growing irritated, whispered, "Oh for God's sake, spare us the dramatics and just do it already!"

Scott's thumb paused in the middle of the knife. He moved his gaze sideways, eyes narrowing, to watch Jackson head on, instead of only using the periphery of his vision.

His pride didn't want him too, but Jackson had to admit to himself this wasn't a joke anymore. Whatever stared at him from inside that lacrosse helmet was not the Scott McCall he was used to. Not even the same one who "pretended" to threaten him to protect Allison at the formal. It was as if he spent the evening taunting a caged animal at the zoo and it finally noticed the crack in the plexiglass between them. Jackson inched back in his seat, casting a nervous glance to Danny, who sat frozen, studying their teammate.

Scott's thumb deftly bent the blade into a sharp ninety degree angle. A sick smile grew on his face as he leaned over and jammed the knife down into the seat, between Jackson's legs.

Without a sound, Jackson felt himself go into panic mode as one hand sliced through the space between him and Scott and encircled his throat. Jackson was trying to will himself to stop shaking _so__ damn __much _and do something as he felt warm fingers, ending with sharp pricks, slide over his skin. _He__'__s __really __gonna __do __it...! _Jackson went stiff, preparing for one last punch.

In the seconds that passed, Scott soundlessly moved across the aisle to Jackson. "Well, gentlemen," Stiles began, a hopeless tinge to his voice, "I'd love to say its been a pleasure playing lacrosse with you, but I never did, so..." Trailing off, he looked to the front of the bus to see that still, no one cared about the impending blood bath that would begin any moment. Stiles honestly didn't know how the other students did it; oblivious that they were spending the last moments of their lives either trying to jerk off inconspicuously or playing Angry Birds. Refocusing, he prepared to hurl himself onto his best friend, not caring who saw what anymore. Except Danny intervened instead. He grabbed Scott's free hand and twisted the wrist until he heard a small snap! The noise from the breaking bones was louder than the groan that came from Scott as he jerked away from Jackson, his hand coming to cradle his clearly broken wrist. Seeing his chance, Jackson kicked Scott out of the seat. He landed in the middle of the aisle with a thud. He stayed there, waiting for the bones to heal, holding his wrist steady.

After letting go, Danny stood back, again blocking the aisle view. Stiles looked at him, clearly processing the skills he just saw. "Y-you're, you're," he stammered, trying to connect words in his head. "You're like a ninja!" he declared, with new appreciation for the goalie.

Danny shrugged. "Eight years of karate will do that." Nodding to Scott, "Did that work?"

"Yes," came the gruff answer from Scott, rotating his wrist, feeling for any abnormalities. Physically, not much had changed, but mentally, the pain had jerked him back for the moment. He found himself panting now, trying to suck in air to help keep his wits about him. He could tell they were close. He could smell it: the sweat from the gym, the garbage rotting out behind the cafeteria, the exhaust from Derek's car. Scott took in a breath. He held it long enough to make it uncomfortable. Somehow, it helped him focus. Derek was out there.

As the bus pulled into the high school parking lot, Scott jumped up from the floor, head bowed low so as not to meet anyone's gaze head on. Derek was at the perimeter of the lot, not quite as edgy as Scott felt, but affected by tonight just the same. It was as if a magnetic force linked the two, alpha to beta, drawing Scott to the safety of the pack, however abysmally small it was. He zeroed in on it, using it to concentrate on his alpha, instead of the annoyances surrounding him. Danny was staring at him, Stiles was babbling at him, Jackson was sniggering at him, and Coach was yelling at him to sit down again. He dodged the haphazard placement of lacrosse equipment sliding off seats, helmets rolling around on the floor. Scott needed to focus on that damn emergency door in the back of bus and not on how badly he wanted to rip into someone, _anyone_. The bus still rolled along, the driver taking her time to come to a complete stop.

It was finally over. One of those clawed hands grabbed the emergency handle and yanked it open. The door swung open, clanging against the outside of the bus and alerting the rest of the occupants to what was happening. Stiles hoped they just thought Scott's asshole streak was continuing as he watched his friend leap out the door. Scott rolled effortlessly on the pavement of the parking lot and took off in the dark, dodging the lights. He ripped the helmet off of his head and threw it away. He was racing towards Derek, Stiles hoped.

Danny went to the back door, trying to secure some equipment that hung precariously close to the opening. He pulled the emergency door shut as Scott disappeared in the dark, only the white of his jersey still visible as he receded. Danny could just make out a black sports car at the edge of the lot. He figured that's where Scott was headed.

"He oughta be good now." Stiles craned his neck, assuming Danny was worried for Scott's safety.

"How so?"

"That's Derek's car he's getting in. Well, getting thrown in it looks like." Stiles winced in sympathy. "He'll make sure Scott doesn't hurt anyone." Stiles, sank into his seat, let out a long held breath of true relief, one that he had been wanting to let go for the majority of the day. The fact that Scott had managed to bury the pull of the full moon this long was impressive. Every time he pressed his luck just a little bit more, the better he got at resisting, holding onto himself. Stiles wasn't sure how much longer he could put up with this kind of friend-related stress, though. Scott's friendship didn't come with mental health benefits.

"Who's Derek?"

"Um," Stiles pursed his lips together, debating. Finally, he answered with, "Remember my cousin, Miguel?"

Danny nodded. "Yeah."

"Well, I don't have a cousin Miguel."

"Ok," Danny sat in the seat opposite Stiles, where his pocket knife was still stuck in the seat. He pulled it out, studying it. He was disappointed; he'd only had it since Christmas. Turning back to Stiles, he continued, "So what's that Derek guy going to do to him? Is he a -" he mouthed the word, _werewolf_- "too?"

Stiles nodded. "Derek will probably kick the crap out of him. It'll keep him busy all night, away from people. And then Scott will -" Stiles was cut off as the bus had finally come to a halt. Players began gathering their belongings, pushing past Stiles carelessly to get to the back of the bus.

Danny was too intrigued to let this go. He tried to get Stiles to continue inconspicuously, though Stiles motioned for him to wait until they were off the bus and away from everyone.

Getting off the bus, Stiles's mind was racing. They took a huge chance tonight and it could have ended worse, like a double digit body count worse. Stiles didn't realize that telling Danny would have been an acceptable tactic to Scott. Luckily, Stiles was pretty sure they didn't need to worry about Danny, although he's going to want answers. The goalie was waiting patiently for him on the curb, duffel bag slung across his shoulder. Coach was still complaining to Jackson for Scott's incredulous behavior tonight. And to his credit, Jackson was continuing to cover for his co-captain, no matter how much he claimed to despise him. Stiles didn't know why; perhaps Jackson liked being in on Scott's secret. Stiles had to admit, as far as secret clubs went, this one was pretty cool.

* * *

><p><em>A. N. <em>

_Many thanks goes out to Lady Silver. Not only was it her prompt, but she helped beta the entire thing and came up with the title. She pretty much rocks._


End file.
